The Only Thing That Would Be Madder
by AlmightyOstrich
Summary: Modern coffeeshop AU. When the douche-y customer Mr. Flagg complains about 4077 Coffee Beans after a slight mishap involving Hawkeye and laxatives, an inspector comes to see whether or not the place should be allowed to keep running. [Season 6 characters. Pansexual Hawkeye. Mention of Hawkeye/Trapper.] - Rated T for language -
1. Chapter 1

"Can you explain to me how the laxative ended up in the coffee you served, Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye shifted in his chair. Potter glared at him from across the desk – perhaps not menacingly, but definitely unamused. Hawkeye uncrossed his legs and ran a hand through his hair to smooth it down.

"It was meant for Frank", he said, trying his best to sound apologetic. "It just so happened that Frank didn't ask me which cup was his. He just grabbed one."

"So a customer ended up getting a cathartic coffee. You wanna put that one on the menu, Pierce?"

Hawkeye held back a snort. _Cathartic coffee._

"What about the names on the cups?" Potter narrowed his eyes. "As far as I know, most of our customers aren't analphabetic."

"Well, you see", Hawkeye cleared his throat, "the customer was _Mr. Flagg._"

Potter sighed.

"And Mr. Flagg", Hawkeye continued, "I'm pretty sure he was born with a stick up his ass. He's a douche."

Potter gave Hawkeye a long look, the way a parent would look at a child trying to explain their logical conclusions as to why it's perfectly fine to roll around in the mud five minutes before the dinner guests arrive.

"He _is!_" Hawkeye leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "You know it. You know what he says about me, _to_ me. You can say it, boss, he's not here."

"I know", said Potter, his eyes revealing the empathy that shone through his otherwise stern expression. "But tell me, what does that have to do with any of this?"

"He's a prick", said Hawkeye. "I'm not writing his name on anything. I can't do it. My hands won't oblige."

Potter leaned back in his chair.

"Why, Pierce, just _why_ do you have to make everything so difficult?" His words were harsh but his tone was not. This conversation would soon be over. Everything would go back to normal, this being only one of several incidents to have been noticed and simply left alone because really, 99 percent of the time, Hawkeye excelled at his job.

Hawkeye shrugged, exaggeratedly and with the same smile he'd give someone he was trying to pick up, eyebrows raised, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"I don't know, I guess it's just the way I am."

"Don't get cute", said Potter, standing up from his chair. "Now get back to work. And I shouldn't have to say this but I'm going to, just to make sure we're both on the same page: No. More. Laxatives. Capishe?"

Hawkeye snorted.

"You got it, boss."


	2. Chapter 2

Why Mr. Flagg kept coming in was a mystery. He liked no one and no one liked him. Still he would show up about once a week to order a coffee which he would drink while sitting on the tall stools by the window glancing suspiciously at every being in his vicinity. Then he would leave quietly without throwing his empty cup in the trashcan. Every time was the same.

It had been two days since Flagg last visited them. He had called Potter today complaining about a slightly awkward problem caused by nothing else than the coffee he had been served at 4077 Coffee Beans, which might indeed have contained a certain amount of laxatives that Hawkeye had consciously put in. In all fairness, though, he _was_ meaning to give it to Frank, who had asked for one to drink on his way home on his last day.

"How screwed are you on a scale of one to ten?"

BJ's voice snapped Hawkeye out of his thoughts. He was leaning over the bar counter, his torso supported on his elbows, and Hawkeye had just walked in from Potter's back office. No customers were in. Hawkeye grinned.

"My irresistible natural charm has once again saved the day." He grabbed a cup and started pouring in some plain black coffee.

"I'm glad", said BJ. His eyes lingered on the cup in Hawkeye's hand. "You know, if there's such a thing as caffeine poisoning, you're gonna get it."

Hawkeye raised his eyebrows.

"Coffee loves me, Beej. It would never hurt me."

"You practically live on it", said BJ. "I'm pretty sure that's the sole reason your hair is black."

"I wouldn't question other people's life choices if I were you, hipster moustache", said Hawkeye smugly.

"I've told you, it's not hipster. It's 80's."

"80's hipster."

"I give up."

Snickering, Hawkeye took a sip of his coffee.

"Ah. Ambrosia." Something suddenly poked him in the back. He startled, almost spilling coffee all over his green shirt. "Hey!" He turned around only to see that it was Margaret, one eyebrow cocked and her lips a thin line.

"Is this your break, Pierce?"

Hawkeye set his cup down on the counter.

"Apparently it is", he said. "I don't see any customers at the moment."

"Well, you better be ready when one shows up. I don't want to see you sagging just because you feel sorry for yourself."

"I'm not- Margaret!"

But she was already walking away, further into the kitchen.

"Margaret!"

Not turning around, she gave him a dismissive wave.

"I'm not your manager for nothing, Pierce."

Hawkeye sighed. Leaning back against the counter, he took his coffee and brought it up to his lips.

"Attila the Hun", he mumbled over the top of the cup.

BJ laughed.


End file.
